


Lirigon to Thyelian

by EverytimeIDoSomethingStupid (kingkongkitty)



Series: The story of a cleric [2]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: D&D, OC, Other, wheelie bin of shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:06:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7976215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingkongkitty/pseuds/EverytimeIDoSomethingStupid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the second little bit of backstory for my half-elf cleric Filegedhiel. Hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lirigon to Thyelian

Fil stood at the head of the grave, looking at the freshly turned earth as tears dripped from her chin. She’d been forced into a dress this morning, a heavy black garment that her mother would have hated to see her in. She’d always said that the best thing to wear at a funeral was colour - that they should be a celebration of the life of the deceased, not a dour unhappy event. That Fil hadn’t been able to honour even that small request felt like a betrayal. A small candle - the only reminder of her mother she had - was clenched in her fist, hidden from the stern gaze of Vanafindon, her father.

The elf in question stood beside her, expression emotionless, the dark hue of his robe only emphasising his paleness. He looked like the colour had been drained from him with the exception of his eyes, jet black and dangerous, narrowed with disgust at the human village he’d been forced to come to.

The resemblance between the two of them was striking, both with hair bright as spun silver and the uncanny grace only elves possessed, but where Filegedhiel was soft and rosy in the face her father was cold, bleached as white as the coffin they’d laid in the grave.

“Come, Filegedhiel. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

His hand gripped her arm and he dragged her away from the graveyard and into the waiting carriage. Fil went quietly, unresisting. She knew it would do no good to argue with him, choosing to wipe her nose on her sleeve when he wasn’t looking and promising herself she’d come back when she was older and find her brother.

The two of them travelled by boat for just over two weeks, seasickness growing as the air grow steadily more frigid until they reached the Elven capital Thyelian, home of the high elves, and now of Fil.

-

The first thing her father did when they got to Thyelian was summon a servant to show her to her room. The second thing he did was burn all of Fil’s possessions, with the exception of the candle she’d hidden from him. Apparently, human made items didn’t suit the aesthetic of his home.

He replaced everything of course - hand knitted garments were exchanged with fine silk, trousers with dresses, plain blocky colours with rich embroidery in fine thread. Her whole wardrobe was designed to keep Filegedhiel looking neat and important, but the darker colour scheme helped keep her out of unnecessary attention. It wasn’t like Vanafindon wanted to attract attention to his illegitimate child.

After a week of staying in her room with the exception of mealtimes a servant was sent in to extract her, ensure she was dressed and then escorted her through the maze of rooms and corridors that was Vanafindon’s home to a small room containing a table, two chairs and an elderly elf. He stood upon her arrival introducing himself as Golodh, her designated teacher.

He was to educate her in the basics, bring her up to speed with other elves of her age, and most importantly teach her Elvish. Golodh was shocked by her lack of ability to speak a tongue that should have been native to her and prioritised teaching her the basics of Elvish for the first few months she was his charge.

Fil didn’t understand why this education was so important. In the human village she’d been born in education wasn’t a common thing. Farmers didn’t need to be able to read or write, just have knowledge of the land and be able to tally up their crops at the end of a harvest.

It was her father who insisted on it. After all, an educated daughter of a high ranking council member - especially a bastard daughter - could be wedded off to the neighbouring dwarven city to improve relations between the two races without ‘diluting the bloodlines’. Her blood was already considered sullied by that of her mother. It’d be no hardship to her father to cart her off and forget about her.

-=-

Fil barely saw her father. He was always away at council meetings and the like, leaving early in the morning and late at night. On his days off he would lock himself away in his study and Fil would be kept away by servants.

But - like clockwork - every two weeks Fil would be required to dress in finer clothing and brush her hair out until it shone - her usual plaits were considered too common - and then visit her father. She would spend an uncomfortable ten minutes talking to him in stilted Elvish as he looked at her with barely disguised revulsion before she would be tossed a gold coin and dismissed.

Fil would save every coin she was given, tucking it away carefully at the back of her sock drawer before turning to the books piled on the end of her bed and writing out more lists of elven vocabulary and the conjugations of the tenses, determined to make her father proud.

Golodh was pleasantly surprised by how quickly she began to pick up the language - it took Fil little over a year to become fluent in the tongue, but no matter how eloquently she spoke the look of disgust never left her father’s eyes and after a year and a half of trying she gave up on trying to speak with him, their meetings becoming increasingly shorter until soon their only interaction was a gold piece appearing by her door every fortnight.

-=-

There were several guests at her father’s home over the time she lived there, but the most notable and unforgettable was the time the Ironfist dwarves came over for a diplomatic mission. They stayed for a month, drinking her father out of liquor within the first week of their arrival.

They were cordial to Filegedhiel at first, treating her with the respect of the hosts’ daughter until they saw the disdain with which she was given when walking through the city, and even within her home. She was a girl with the name of an important elf but with none of the respect someone of her class would usually wield.

Once they’d put two and two together, they were much more friendly, inviting her to spend as much time as possible with them. She spent every moment when not sleeping or learning with the dwarves, eating with them and striking up idle chitter chatter. For the first time since her mother’s death, she had a sparkle in her eyes and an easy smile permanently on her face, laugh echoing through the usually silent halls.

When the ten dwarves left it was to her dismay. They promised to arrange another visit when appropriate, giving her a veritable mountain of small keepsakes that her father promptly confiscated and sold once they left the city. Fil cried bitterly about that once she’d turned in for the night, the memory of the dwarves soured by the actions of Vanafindon.

-=-

After three years of living in Thyelian, Fil was once again called to her father’s side. She neatened up appropriately, and was lead to his study.

With the smallest nod of acknowledgement at her appearance, he led her out into the city. The two of them walked towards the centre of Thyelian and entered the council chambers, passing between rows of armed guards on their way in.

She was lead into a small chamber with four of the elven council - her father included. They were all ageing men with sour faces and little personality. After a few minutes of loitering and wondering what they wanted with her, a very aged elf hobbled in and the gathering was brought to attention.

“Filegedhiel Torthadiel Filidhrentithiel.”

Fil frowned at her name. Her father had given her a full elvish name about a year ago, a note had been passed to her to inform her of the change. She hadn’t protested, but it still left an uneasy feeling in her gut, the weight of her formal name hanging over her, heavy with responsibility. In Lirigon last names weren’t a common thing, an unneeded formality with the peasants, and her new title was what really made her realise just how much she’d been forced to change since her mother’s death.

“Over the past few months, the council has been arranging a marriage between the clan of Ironfist and this city. We have secured an arrangement with these dwarves, and it is with great joy that we announce to you your betrothal to Tordek Ironfist, son of the head of the Ironfist clan.” The man’s tone didn’t sound joyful. The loathing for her was clear in his eyes. With the exception of Golodh and a few servants she’d befriended, every elf she’d met looked at her with some form of disgust in their eyes, like it was her fault her father had gotten a human pregnant.

“It is a great honour to do this. You will be securing peace for our city and the clan of Ironfist for many years to come.”

She’d heard of Tordek from the ambassador dwarves she’d met. He was next in line to take charge of the clan and a cruel man, with almost as much disdain for half-bloods as the elves surrounding her. The time she’d spent with the dwarves had been one of the best since moving to Thyelian, but trapped in a marriage a dwarf who despised her, and be expected to bear his children was an abhorrent thought.

Snapping back into the present, Fil nodded reluctantly, the weight of her father’s eyes upon her. She couldn’t exactly refuse. There was no point making a scene when their minds had already been made up. After half an hour of detailing to her the arrangements of the wedding and the duties she’d be expected to fulfil while wedded to the dwarf she was dismissed.

That night she packed the warmest clothes she had, the gold from her father, a selection of blankets and the candle that had been her mothers and ran from the city, no goal in mind, just knowing that she had to get as far away from Thyelian as possible.


End file.
